


Servitude

by saliache



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Sauron's not exactly drowning in options by the end of the Third Age, call the boyfriend, does the character death tag still count if he's already dead, for a Dark Lord at least, pun intended, references to past silverfisting, undead elf boyfriends are the most useful boyfriends, when all else fails
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 01:19:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6402649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saliache/pseuds/saliache
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of the Third Age, Sauron has run out of options. Almost. There is still one person - former person - he can call upon, who may yet turn the tide for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Servitude

Seven – four, only four left – rings for the Dwarf-lords. Nine for great Men, fallen into shadow. Three lay beyond his reach, and one was lost to him forever. 

And none to spare for Curunir the cunning, keeper of secrets of even the Smith’s first disciples.

“This displeases me,” Sauron rumbled, ferocious with thwarted plots. The twisted remnants of his once-great form sat hunched on the great throne, more akin to orc than to elf, now; the disdain of the Valar had not ceased at mere beauty. 

“You are quite right,” Curunir soothed. quite safe and entirely untouchable from his vantage point ensconced safely within Orthanc’s walls. “Matters cannot be allowed to stand thusly.”

Concealing cloth drew over the palantir shortly; Sauron was in no mood to riddle through his treacherous ally’s words. A snarl of fury echoed through the chamber as the fallen Maia was forced to acknowledge the truth of his colleague’s words. “I must be the one to command the great events of these coming times!”

Deep were the dungeons of Barad-dur, and foul; gibbering horrors that were once men lived there, cackling and wallowing in the stink of their own filth.

Deeper yet did Sauron go, into the very bowels of the fortress where few had ever ventured. Great artifacts lay in long-forgotten storerooms, relics of an Age long-past and a life nigh-forgotten. These too did he pass, neither turning his head nor pausing to consider these unexpected riches. And, indeed, the cunning-wrought gold, the hoarded precious mithril and gleaming gems, the fanciful trinkets of silver and electrum and more, in full quantity enough to ruin Gondor in a warless way entirely, lay there, undisturbed.

But Sauron hoarded his prizes greedily, willing them to never leave his grasp. For there, in one dimly-lit corner, lay a most peculiar banner, half-hidden by a fall of ancient gold.

It was, as most banners were, a sigil strung upon a pole. This pole was nearly a half-foot thick at the base, tapering to a point at the top. The sigil hung there, half-amputated limbs contorted in wild rictus and body pierced through with thick dark arrows. Things that once might have been organs or hands or even an eye spilled around it.

“Hail, old friend,” Sauron spoke fondly, reaching over to caress a dead face. Charred eye sockets stared back at him blindly, mute testiment to his former fury. “You have lain here far longer than you should have, but I have need of you once more. Will you serve me?”

And the body shuddered and thrashed, animated by the ensnared spirit of its former owner, until its eyeless head nodded in acceptance and dried lips mouthed the words of an oath of subservience.

Sauron leaned down to kiss his former lover. “Come then,” he said, terrible with violent joy. “There is work for you to do.”


End file.
